


No Contest

by propinquitine



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsmooch, First Kiss, M/M, absurd alien rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-14
Updated: 2009-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitine/pseuds/propinquitine
Summary: "I still don't see why I had to be the bait," Rodney grumbled.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	No Contest

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to M. for prompt/taskmaster/beta duties.

"I still don't see why I had to be the bait," Rodney grumbled. He reached up and scratched his cheek where the blindfold was starting to chafe; at least they'd left his hands unbound.

"We consider it a courtesy to offworlders, to put one of their own as the prize," Parran said from somewhere to Rodney's right. "We find it provides excellent motivation to win the contest."

Rodney snorted. "Yes, because they think you're going to kill me." They’d had a while to chat as they waited for someone to complete the insane steeplechase/obstacle course that Parran was calling “the contest”, and Parran had filled him in on the interminable history behind the Hantia’s favorite hazing ritual. For eons, it seemed, they had used the contest to determine which potential trading partners had the stamina and zeal (her words) to maintain an alliance with the Hantia.

In recent centuries, they had come to base their decisions more on their potential allies’ reputations and interpersonal communications skills, rather than on their talent for rope climbing, but they still presented the contest as a life-or-death challenge and would only trade with those who won. (“It’s tradition,” Parran had said. She’d also heavily implied that, if the Hantia liked you, they threw the game, just a little.)

So Parran wasn't going to kill him. Regardless of the outcome, she'd assured him, he would be free to leave once someone finished the contest. But his team didn't know that.

"Ah, someone approaches the foot of the hill. Now it is time for your portion of the contest, Dr. McKay."

"What, sitting patiently in a small room in the middle of nowhere for five hours doesn't count? While _blindfolded_?"

Parran chuckled. "We are merely on the outskirts of town, and I think it is fortunate, for your sake, that your test does not involve a demonstration of patience. You need only identify the person who has come for you."

"Again, while blindfolded?"

"Yes. Once you have reached your conclusion, simply state the name of the person before you, and the contest will be complete. If you are correct, and the winner is a member of your team, we may begin trade negotiations. In the case of any other result, we will escort you back to the Ring and see you safely on your way."

"But -- "

"Quiet," Parran said. "The victor is near."

Rodney could hear the soft crunch of pine-like needles as someone cautiously approached the little hut. Rodney strained, listening as closely as he could, but who was he kidding? He couldn't tell one person's stealthy creeping noise from another's.

A floorboard creaked. "Silence," Parran said, her voice projecting toward the doorway. "You have completed the course successfully. Congratulations. Now, Dr. McKay must identify you. You may not talk," she said, and Rodney could hear the person's teeth click shut from across the room.

Rodney raised his hand in front of him. If he could just touch the person's shoulder, even, that would give him something to go on.

"You may not touch, Dr. McKay." Rodney opened his mouth to argue. "And you may not speak until you are ready to identify this person."

Rodney sighed. They needed the alliance with the Hantia, but this was ridiculous. _You can do this_ , he thought. There was no point in guessing any of the Hantia racers; if one of them had won, they weren't going to get a trade agreement anyway. (Besides, he couldn't remember any of their names.) So, one of his team, then. That shouldn't be too difficult. He'd be able to tell the difference between Ronon's looming presence and Teyla's compact energy, if only the person would move closer. And John --

Suddenly, there was a hand on the back of his neck, tugging him forward. Rodney had only a moment to register the warmth of it, rough with calluses against his nape, and the strange sensation of something moving in very close to his face, before there was a pair of lips pressed right up against his own.

Rodney didn't know which it was: the scratch of stubble even though it was barely 1500 hours Atlantis time, the slight odor of gun oil, the rasp of a terrycloth wristband against his jaw, or the way that plump lower lip fit so perfectly between his, like he'd somehow known it would. _This is John_ , he knew, without a doubt. _Johnjohnjohnjohnjohn_.

And that was John pulling away, taking his lips with him, and no, _no_ , that was not okay, not even a little bit. Rodney took a step closer to him, not letting him disengage, opening his mouth a little and tracing that divot in John's lower lip with his tongue. John gave a quiet little moan and started stroking his thumb back and forth behind Rodney's ear. As Rodney shivered, he mentally chided himself for not figuring this out sooner. The fact that he'd apparently spent a significant amount of time pondering the softness of his best friend's lips made a lot more sense now. (As did his enduring fondness for Wayne Gretsky even though he didn't much care for hockey.)

Just as Rodney moved to put his hands on John's waist, shoulders, in his hair, _anywhere, god, why wasn't he touching him yet_ , Parran cleared her throat. "Dr. McKay? I trust you've made your identification?" she asked, as though it were equally probable that he went around frenching anyone who happened by.

He pulled back. "John," he said to Parran, his voice cracking on the end of the word. "It's John." He turned back. "It's you, John."

"Yeah," John said, and that was it, the damned blindfold had to go, he needed every available nuance here. What the hell was _Yeah_ supposed to mean?

"It is indeed! Well done, both of you," Parran said as Rodney tugged the blindfold free. It sounded like she was holding back a laugh. "Now that you have proved your mettle, I'm certain my people will be anxious to begin negotiations immediately." She gestured toward the door. "If you'll follow me, I will take us to the Council chamber, where your compatriots should be waiting."

"Wait, that's it?" John asked. Rodney could see now that he was tense, hand poised by the gun that wasn't on his hip and frowning at Parran.

"Oh," Rodney said, "oh, no, yes, there's no danger, that was it: You running and jumping and swimming through god knows what, and me, ah, deducing your identity. The imperiled teammate bit was just a motivational technique," he said, nodding at Parran.

She smiled back. "And as you see, Dr. McKay, it is really _quite_ effective." She stepped through the doorway. "We should be going."

Rodney looked at John, who was watching Parran leave with a frown on his face. "I don't like this," John said.

"Me neither -- you really think I enjoyed sitting on my ass for half a day listening to the history of this contest? But they never intended to do anything more than make us leave if we didn't win. And we did win, so how about we go get our congratulatory trade alliance?"

The muscles along John's jaw twitched. "I thought they were going to _kill_ you if I didn't get here in time," he said through gritted teeth. He was still looking past Rodney, out the door.

Rodney reached out and put his hand on John's arm, tentatively at first, then more firmly, because, hey, the kissing thing, that had taken them past the manly-pats-only level of contact, right? Maybe this would be easier if he closed his eyes. "Hey, I'm fine, really. Bored as hell and kind of hungry, but otherwise -- fine. They even used a hypoallergenic fiber in the blindfold. We won their contest, even with the surprise game of 'Guess Who' at the end, there, and really -- _that_ was your solution?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," John shrugged, but his shoulders were still set like he was prepping for a fight. He looked exhausted. "Cut me some slack, Rodney. I just spent five hours breaking my neck to save-- to get to you. I'm a little out of it."

"But you could've done something else. Hell, you could've just stood next to me, I'm pretty sure I could tell everyone apart by smell." Rodney paused. "That sounded less weird in my head."

John scuffed his boot along the floor. "Like I said, really thought I might lose you."

"Oh." Yes, that would put John in a more desperate frame of mind. It usually did. "Was this a one-time thing, then? Or, well, a several-times-a-year thing, give the rate at which my life is endangered?"

John looked at him, finally, and, oh wow, that was intense. He would never _seriously_ consider putting himself in harm's way, but if it got John to look at him like that, well. ". . . . No?" John said eventually.

He sounded uncertain, but Rodney could remember the feel of his lips, the hesitant touch of John's tongue before they'd been reminded of where they were, what they still needed to do. "No," he agreed, nodding firmly. "Not a one-time thing."

John relaxed, the tension in his face easing. He opened his mouth to say something, but Parran poked her head back into the hut. "We really must be going," she said. "The feast in honor of your victory will begin whether you're there or not."

"I do love a good feast in my honor," John said. He flashed a charming smile at Parran that morphed into something softer when he looked back at Rodney. "Shall we?"

"Excuse me, feast in _your_ honor? I distinctly remember the entire contest hinging on _my_ abilities," Rodney replied as they walked out of the hut and followed Parran down the path.

"And my five hours of endurance racing had nothing to do with it." John winced as he took a big step over a fallen tree. "I haven't done hurdles since high school track."

"But you must've liked the _uungat_ back portion," Rodney said. "Like riding a horse, right?"

"They have six legs, Rodney. It is _not_ like riding a horse."

Rodney ducked under a branch. "Huh, I wonder if they're evolved from insects."

John bumped him hard with his shoulder. "Not funny, Rodney."

"It's a legitimate question!" he said, nudging John back.

John shook his head. "It's a disturbing question," he said, but Rodney could tell he was fighting a smile as the two of them walked shoulder-to-shoulder back into town.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the October 2009 McSmooch, originally posted on Livejournal: https://mcsmooch.livejournal.com/178300.html .
> 
> These days, I'm over on Tumblr [@propinquitine](https://propinquitine.tumblr.com/), mostly reblogging other people's excellent posts.


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